奥兰多orlando (英文版)作者:弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙-第22部分

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e　change　from　one　age　to　the　other。　But　the　spirit　of　the　nieenth　century　was　antipathetic　to　her　in　the　extreme；　and　thus　it　took　her　and　broke　her；　and　she　was　aware　of　her　defeat　at　its　hands　as　she　had　never　been　before。　For　it　is　probable　that　the　human　spirit　has　its　place　in　time　assigned　to　it；　some　are　born　of　this　age；　some　of　that；　and　now　that　Orlando　was　grown　a　woman；　a　year　or　two　past　thirty　indeed；　the　lines　of　her　character　were　fixed；　and　to　bend　them　the　wrong　way　was　intolerable。

So　she　stood　mournfully　at　the　drawing–room　window　（Bartholomew　had　so　christened　the　library）　dragged　down　by　the　weight　of　the　crinoline　which　she　had　submissively　adopted。　It　was　heavier　and　more　drab　than　any　dress　she　had　yet　worn。　None　had　ever　so　impeded　her　movements。　No　longer　could　she　stride　through　the　garden　with　her　dogs；　or　run　lightly　to　the　high　mound　and　fling　herself　beneath　the　oak　tree。　Her　skirts　collected　damp　leaves　and　straw。　The　plumed　hat　tossed　on　the　breeze。　The　thin　shoes　were　quickly　soaked　and　mud–caked。　Her　muscles　had　lost　their　pliancy。　She　became　nervous　lest　there　should　be　robbers　behind　the　wainscot　and　afraid；　for　the　first　time　in　her　life；　of　ghosts　in　the　corridors。　All　these　things　inclined　her；　step　by　step；　to　submit　to　the　new　discovery；　whether　Queen　Victoria’s　or　another’s；　that　each　man　and　each　woman　has　another　allotted　to　it　for　life；　whom　it　supports；　by　whom　it　is　supported；　till　death　them　do　part。　It　would　be　a　fort；　she　felt；　to　lean；　to　sit　down；　yes；　to　lie　down；　never；　never；　never　to　get　up　again。　Thus　did　the　spirit　work　upon　her；　for　all　her　past　pride；　and　as　she　came　sloping　down　the　scale　of　emotion　to　this　lowly　and　unaccustomed　lodging–place；　those　twangings　and　tinglings　which　had　been　so　captious　and　so　interrogative　modulated　into　the　sweetest　melodies；　till　it　seemed　as　if　angels　were　plucking　harp–strings　with　white　fingers　and　her　whole　being　was　pervaded　by　a　seraphic　harmony。

But　whom　could　she　lean　upon？　She　asked　that　question　of　the　wild　autumn　winds。　For　it　was　now　October；　and　wet　as　usual。　Not　the　Archduke；　he　had　married　a　very　great　lady　and　had　hunted　hares　in　Roumania　these　many　years　now；　nor　Mr　M。；　he　was　bee　a　Catholic；　nor　the　Marquis　of　C。；　he　made　sacks　in　Botany　Bay；　nor　the　Lord　O。；　he　had　long　been　food　for　fishes。　One　way　or　another；　all　her　old　cronies　were　gone　now；　and　the　Nells　and　the　Kits　of　Drury　Lane；　much　though　she　favoured　them；　scarcely　did　to　lean　upon。

‘Whom’；　she　asked；　casting　her　eyes　upon　the　revolving　clouds；　clasping　her　hands　as　she　knelt　on　the　window–sill；　and　looking　the　very　image　of　appealing　womanhood　as　she　did　so；　‘can　I　lean　upon？’　Her　words　formed　themselves；　her　hands　clasped　themselves；　involuntarily；　just　as　her　pen　had　written　of　its　own　accord。　It　was　not　Orlando　who　spoke；　but　the　spirit　of　the　age。　But　whichever　it　was；　nobody　answered　it。　The　rooks　were　tumbling　pell–mell　among　the　violet　clouds　of　autumn。　The　rain　had　stopped　at　last　and　there　was　an　iridescence　in　the　sky　which　tempted　her　to　put　on　her　plumed　hat　and　her　little　stringed　shoes　and　stroll　out　before　dinner。

‘Everyone　is　mated　except　myself；’　she　mused；　as　she　trailed　disconsolately　across　the　courtyard。　There　were　the　rooks；　Canute　and　Pippin　even—transitory　as　their　alliances　were；　still　each　this　evening　seemed　to　have　a　partner。　‘Whereas；　I；　who　am　mistress　of　it　all；’　Orlando　thought；　glancing　as　she　passed　at　the　innumerable　emblazoned　windows　of　the　hall；　‘am　single；　am　mateless；　am　alone。’

Such　thoughts　had　never　entered　her　head　before。　Now　they　bore　her　down　unescapably。　Instead　of　thrusting　the　gate　open；　she　tapped　with　a　gloved　hand　for　the　porter　to　unfasten　it　for　her。　One　must　lean　on　someone；　she　thought；　if　it　is　only　on　a　porter；　and　half　wished　to　stay　behind　and　help　him　to　grill　his　chop　on　a　bucket　of　fiery　coals；　but　was　too　timid　to　ask　it。　So　she　strayed　out　into　the　park　alone；　faltering　at　first　and　apprehensive　lest　there　might　be　poachers　or　gamekeepers　or　even　errand–boys　to　marvel　that　a　great　lady　should　walk　alone。

At　every　step　she　glanced　nervously　lest　some　male　form　should　be　hiding　behind　a　furze　bush　or　some　savage　cow　be　lowering　its　horns　to　toss　her。　But　there　were　only　the　rooks　flaunting　in　the　sky。　A　steel–blue　plume　from　one　of　them　fell　among　the　heather。　She　loved　wild　birds’　feathers。　She　had　used　to　collect　them　as　a　boy。　She　picked　it　up　and　stuck　it　in　her　hat。　The　air　blew　upon　her　spirit　somewhat　and　revived　it。　As　the　rooks　went　whirling　and　wheeling　above　her　head　and　feather　after　feather　fell　gleaming　through　the　purplish　air；　she　followed　them；　her　long　cloak　floating　behind　her；　over　the　moor；　up　the　hill。　She　had　not　walked　so　far　for　years。　Six　feathers　had　she　picked　from　the　grass　and　drawn　between　her　fingers　and　pressed　to　her　lips　to　feel　their　smooth；　glinting　plumage；　when　she　saw；　gleaming　on　the　hill–side；　a　silver　pool；　mysterious　as　the　lake　into　which　Sir　Bedivere　flung　the　sword　of　Arthur。　A　single　feather　quivered　in　the　air　and　fell　into　the　middle　of　it。　Then；　some　strange　ecstasy　came　over　her。　Some　wild　notion　she　had　of　following　the　birds　to　the　rim　of　the　world　and　flinging　herself　on　the　spongy　turf　and　there　drinking　forgetfulness；　while　the　rooks’　hoarse　laughter　sounded　over　her。　She　quickened　her　pace；　she　ran；　she　tripped；　the　tough　heather　roots　flung　her　to　the　ground。　Her　ankle　was　broken。　She　could　not　rise。　But　there　she　lay　content。　The　scent　of　the　bog　myrtle　and　the　meadow–sweet　was　in　her　nostrils。　The　rooks’　hoarse　laughter　was　in　her　ears。　‘I　have　found　my　mate；’　she　murmured。　‘It　is　the　moor。　I　am　nature’s　bride；’　she　whispered；　giving　herself　in　rapture　to　the　cold　embraces　of　the　grass　as　she　lay　folded　in　her　cloak　in　the　hollow　by　the　pool。　‘Here　will　I　lie。　（A　feather　fell　upon　her　brow。）　I　have　found　a　greener　laurel　than　the　bay。　My　forehead　will　be　cool　always。　These　are　wild　birds’　feathers—the　owl’s；　the　nightjar’s。　I　shall　dream　wild　dreams。　My　hands　shall　wear　no　wedding　ring；’　she　continued；　slipping　it　from　her　finger。　‘The　roots　shall　twine　about　them。　Ah！’　she　sighed；　pressing　her　head　luxuriously　on　its　spongy　pillow；　‘I　have　sought　happiness　through　many　ages　and　not　found　it；　fame　and　missed　it；　love　and　not　known　it；　life—and　behold；　death　is　better。　I　have　known　many　men　and　many　women；’　she　continued；　‘none　have　I　understood。　It　is　better　that　I　should　lie　at　peace　here　with　only　the　sky　above　me—as　the　gipsy　told　me　years　ago。　That　was　in　Turkey。’　And　she　looked　straight　up　into　the　marvellous　golden　foam　into　which　the　clouds　had　churned　themselves；　and　saw　next　moment　a　track　in　it；　and　camels　passing　in　single　file　through　the　rocky　desert　among　clouds　of　red　dust；　and　then；　when　the　camels　had　passed；　there　were　only　mountains；　very　high　and　full　of　clefts　and　with　pinnacles　of　rock；　and　she　fancied　she　heard　goat　bells　ringing　in　their　passes；　and　in　their　folds　were　fields　of　irises　and　gentian。　So　the　sky　changed　and　her　eyes　slowly　lowered　themselves　down　and　down　till　they　came　to　the　rain–darkened　earth　and　saw　the　great　hump　of　the　South　Downs；　flowing　in　one　wave　along　the　coast；　and　where　the　land　parted；　there　was　the　sea；　the　sea　with　ships　passing；　and　she　fancied　she　heard　a　gun　far　out　at　sea；　and　thought　at　first；　‘That’s　the　Armada；’　and　then　thought　‘No；　it’s　Nelson’；　and　then　remembered　how　those　wars　were　over　and　the　ships　were　busy　merchant　ships；　and　the　sails　on　the　winding　river　were　those　of　pleasure　boats。　She　saw；　too；　cattle　sprinkled　on　the　dark　fields；　sheep　and　cows；　and　she　saw　the　lights　ing　here　and　there　in　farm–house　windows；　and　lanterns　moving　among　the　cattle　as　the　shepherd　went　his　rounds　and　the　cowman；　and　then　the　lights　went　out　and　the　stars　rose　and　tangled　themselves　about　the　sky。　Indeed；　she　was　falling　asleep　with　the　wet　feathers　on　her　face　and　her　ear　pressed　to　the　ground　when　she　heard；　deep　within；　some　hammer　on　an　anvil；　or　was　it　a　heart　beating？　Tick–tock；　tick–tock；　so　it　hammered；　so　it　beat；　the　anvil；　or　the　heart　in　the　middle　of　the　earth；　until；　as　she　listened；　she　thought　it　changed　to　the　trot　of　a　horse’s　hoofs；　one；　two；　three；　four；　she　counted；　then　she　heard　a　stumble；　then；　as　it　came　nearer　and　nearer；　she　could　hear　the　crack　of　a　twig　and　the　suck　of　the　wet　bog　in　its　hoofs。　The　horse　was　almost　on　her。　She　sat　upright。　Towering　dark　against　the　yellow–slashed　sky　of　dawn；　with　the　plovers　rising　and　falling　about　him；　she　saw　a　man　on　horseback。　He　started。　The　horse　stopped。

‘Madam；’　the　man　cried；　leaping　to　the　ground；　‘you’re　hurt！’

‘I’m　dead；　sir！’　she　replied。

A　few　minutes　later；　they　became　engaged。

The　morning　after；　as　they　sat　at　breakfast；　he　told　her　his　name。　It　was　Marmaduke　Bonthrop　Shelmerdine；　Esquire。

‘I　knew　it！’　she　said；　for　there　was　something　romantic　and　chivalrous；　passionate；　melancholy；　yet　determined　about　him　which　went　with　the　wild；　dark–plumed　name—a　name　which　had；　in　her　mind；　the　steel–blue　gleam　of　rooks’　wings；　the　hoarse　laughter　of　their　caws；　the　snake–like　twisting　descent　of　their　feathers　in　a　silver　pool；　and　a　thousand　other　things　which　will　be　described　presently。

‘Mine　is　Orlando；’　she　said。　He　had　guessed　it。　For　if　you　see　a　ship　in　full　sail　ing　with　the　sun　on　it　proudly　sweeping　across　the　Mediterranean　from　the　South　Seas；　one　says　at　once；　‘Orlando’；　he　explained。

In　fact；　though　their　acquaintance　had　been　so　short；　they　had　guessed；　as　always　happens　between　lovers；　everything　of　any　importance　about　each　other　in　two　seconds　at　the　utmost；　and　it　now　remained　only　to　fill　in　such　unimportant　details　as　what　they　were　called；　where　they　lived；　and　whether　they　were　beggars　or　people　of　substance。　He　had　a　castle　in　the　Hebrides；　but　it　was　ruined；　he　told　her。　Gans　feasted　in　the　banqueting　hall。　He　had　been　a　soldier　and　a　sailor；　and　had　explored　the　East。　He　was　on　his　way　now　to　join　his　brig　at　Falmouth；　but　the　wind　had　fallen　and　it　was　only　when　the　gale　blew　from　the　South–west　that　he　could　put　out　to　sea。　Orlando　looked　hastily　from　the　breakfast–room　window　at　the　gilt　leopard　on　the　weather　vane。　Mercifully　its　tail　pointed　due　east　and　was　steady　as　a　rock。　‘Oh！　Shel；　don’t　leave　me！’　she　cried。　‘I’m　passionately　in　love　with　you；’　she　said。　No　sooner　had　the　words　left　her　mouth　than　an　awful　suspicion　rushed　into　both　their　minds　simultaneously。

‘You’re　a　woman；　Shel！’　she　cried。

‘You’re　a　man；　Orlando！’　he　cried。

Never　was　there　such　a　scene　of　protestation　and　demonstration　as　then　took　place　since　the　world　began。　When　it　was　over　and　they　were　seated　again　she　asked　him；　what　was　this　talk　of　a　South–west　gale？　Where　was　he　bound　for？

‘For　the　Horn；’　he　said　briefly；　and　blushed。　（For　a　man　had　to　blush　as　a　woman　had；　only　at　rather　different　things。）　It　was　only　by　dint　of　great　pressure　on　her　side　and　the　use　of　much　intuition　that　she　gathered　that　his　life　was　spent　in　the　most　desperate　and　splendid　of　adventures—which　is　to　voyage　round　Cape　Horn　in　the　teeth　of　a　gale。　Masts　had　been　snapped　off；　sails　torn　to　ribbons　（she　had　to　drag　the　admission　from　him）。　Sometimes　the　ship　had　sunk；　and　he　had　been　left　the　only　survivor　on　a　raft　with　a　biscuit。

‘It’s　about　all　a　fellow　can　do　nowadays；’　he　said　sheepishly；　and　helped　himself　to　great　spoonfuls　of　strawberry　jam。　The　vision　which　she　had　thereupon　of　this　boy　（for　he　was　little　more）　sucking　peppermints；　for　which　he　had　a　passion；　while　the　masts　snapped　and　the　stars　reeled　and　he　roared　brief　orders　to　cut　this　adrift；　to　heave　that　overboard；　brought　the　tears　to　her　eyes；　tears；　she　noted；　of　a　finer　flavour　than　any　she　had　cried　before：　‘I　am　a　woman；’　she　thought；　‘a　real　woman；　at　last。’　She　thanked　Bonthrop　from　the　bottom　of　her　heart　for　having　given　her　this　rare　and　unexpected　delight。　Had　she　not　been　lame　in　the　left　foot；　she　would　have　sat　upon　his　knee。

‘Shel；　my　darling；’　she　began　again；　‘tell　me。。。’　and　so　they　talked　two　hours　or　more；　perhaps　about　Cape　Horn；　perhaps　not；　and　really　it　would　profit　little　to　write　down　what　they　said；　for　they　knew　each　other　so　well　that　they　could　say　anything；　which　is　tantamount　to　saying　nothing；　or　saying　such　stupid；　prosy　things　as　how　to　cook　an　omelette；　or　where　to　buy　the　best　boots　in　London；　things　which　have　no　lustre　taken　from　their　setting；　yet　are　positively　of　amazing　beauty　within　it。　For　it　has　e　about；　by　the　wise　economy　of　nature；　that　our　modern　spirit　can　almost　dispense　with　language；　the　monest　expressions　do；　since　no　expressions　do；　hence　the　most　ordinary　conversation　is　often　the　most　poetic；　and　the　most　poetic　is　precisely　that　which　cannot　be　written　down。　For　which　reasons　we　leave　a　great　blank　here；　which　must　be　taken　to　indicate　that　the　space　is　filled　to　repletion。

After　some　days　more　of　this　kind　of　talk；

‘Orlando；　my　dearest；’　Shel　was　beginning；　when　there　was　a　scuffling　outside；　and　Basket　the　butler　entered　with　the　information　that　there　was　a　couple　of　Peelers　downstairs　with　a　warrant　from　the　Queen。

‘Show　‘em　up；’　said　Shelmerdine　briefly；　as　if　on　his　own　quarter–deck；　taking　up；　by　instinct；　a　stand　with　his　hands　behind　him　in　front　of　the　fireplace。　Two　officers　in　bottlegreen　uniforms　with　truncheons　at　their　hips　then　entered　the　room　and　stood　at　attention。　Formalities　being　over；　they　gave　into　Orlando’s　own　hands；　as　their　mission　was；　a　legal　document　of　some　very　impressive　sort；　judging　by　the　blobs　of　sealing　wax；　the　ribbons；　the　oaths；　and　the　signatures；　which　were　all　of　the　highest　importance。

Orlando　ran　her　eyes　through　it　and　then；　using　the　first　finger　of　her　right　hand　as　pointer；　read　out　the　following　facts　as　being　most　germane　to　the　matter。

‘The　lawsuits　are　settled；’　she　read　out。。。’some　in　my　favour；　as　for　example。。。others　not。　Turkish　marriage　annulled　（I　was　ambassador　in　Constantinople；　Shel；’　she　explained）　‘Children　pronounced　illegitimate；　（they　said　I　had　three　sons　by　Pepita；　a　Spanish　dancer）。　So　they　don’t　inherit；　which　is　all　to　the　good。。。Sex？　Ah！　what　about　sex？　My　sex’；　she　read　out　with　some　solemnity；　‘is　pronounced　indisputably；　and　beyond　the　shadow　of　a　doubt　（what　I　was　telling　you　a　moment　ago；　Shel？）；　female。　The　estates　which　are　now　desequestrated　in　perpetuity　descend　and　are　tailed　and　entailed　upon　the　heirs　male　of　my　body；　or　in　default　of　marriage’—but　here　she　grew　impatient　with　this　legal　verbiage；　and　said；　‘but　there　won’t　be　any　default　of　marriage；　nor　of　heirs　either；　so　the　rest　can　be　taken　as　read。’　Whereupon　she　appended　her　own　signature　beneath　Lord　Palmerston’s　and　entered　from　that　moment　into　the　undisturbed　possession　of　her　titles；　her　house；　and　her　estate—which　was　now　so　much　shrunk；　for　the　cost　of　the　lawsuits　had　been　prodigious；　that；　though　she　was　infinitely　noble　again；　she　was　also　excessively　poor。

When　the　result　of　the　lawsuit　was　made　known　（and　rumour　flew　much　quicker　than　the　telegraph　which　has　supplanted　it）；　the　whole　town　was　filled　with　rejoicings。

＇Horses　were　put　into　carriages　for　the　sole　purpose　of